TIMESTAMP: 23 Solace, Glade, 4598 / 10:23
NOTES: -
NOTES: -
► Show Spoiler
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It was mid-morning and the Ferrier had only recently stepped from his tower and into the sun. Early Glade, one of his favorite times of the year…the air was cool, but the gentle rays of the sun piercing through overcast clouds made him feel warm nonetheless. For all intents and purposes, it was a beautiful day.
Degare’s gaze drifted up to the sky. Gentle, soft looking clouds floated languidly over an endless expanse of brilliant blues. He stood here for a moment, watching, as the sun was covered and uncovered to various degrees by the clouds as they passed. His expression was tired, but otherwise blank as pupils shrunk in the bright light. The elf pulls his eyes away only when he begins to feel the visual strain start to tug at him from staring too long even adjacent to the sun.
He sighs, long and extended. Worry weighs heavily upon his heart, but he has to walk through this day as if it were any another…and it was. Heavy, slow steps carry him forward.
As he walks further into his manor’s garden, a soft breeze blows through the leaves, his hair, over his skin. The cool air and rustling leaves would be relaxing if it were another time. Birds soar overhead, flitting by as they go about their business, their songs ringing out through the courtyard. The reverberations of light steps and the echoes of voices reach the mage’s ears as well– Valran, family members and so forth otherwise engaged with their various affairs. Time felt slow today.
His eyes are drawn to the vibrant colors of new blooms and young buds contrasting against scores of green hues. As he walks, he passes by quite a number of them. Bright pink petals resembling upside down hearts rest alongside sweet, dainty white bells adorning thin stems. They hang above blooms of light, cool, drooping blue bells split into thin petals that coalesce with grape-like tiny hyacinth flowers– all interspersed with white, violet and golden crocuses. The names of each one flashes in his mind as he languidly drifts by: Lamprocapnos spectabilis, Convallaria majalis, Scilla siberica, Muscari spp., and finally, Crocus.
One flower in particular commands the Ferrier’s attention above all of the others. Slow steps grind to a halt as he stands in front of a veritable field of its blooms: red spider lily, Lycoris radiata. Long had this flower been one of his favorites, despite their meaning– journey’s end– being rather somber in nature. It bloomed in these exact beds every year from spring to late summer. As for why he felt drawn to stand before them today, he could only guess. As he stood in reverie, the sounds of the world around him grew ever quieter, as if he were drowning them out. Consequently, he was oblivious to the panic-stricken footsteps of a young Valran walking towards him at a noticeably nervous pace.
She had only started working for House Socorro recently and the task given to her in this moment was one she absolutely did not understand why of all people, she was chosen for it. Her thoughts pulsed with anxiety about how the Lord would react to the news she had to share. The mere concept of even speaking the words to him dried her throat and made her feel ill, but she was unable to pass this task off to anyone else– they all felt much the same way. Ultimately, this is likely why she was saddled with delivering this information…absolutely nobody else wanted to and she was the very newest.
In the garden, she spotted him. With a deep breath, she makes her approach, shoes clicking against the flagstone path. Stopping a few feet away, it would appear that the tall elf simply did not notice her; he was lost in his thoughts in one way or another. She stood beside him in silence for some few agonizing moments before she choked up the confidence to get his attention. “L-lord Socorro…?” Her soft voice quivers when she speaks.
At first, he didn't move at all. Only amber irises under half closed lids shift towards the small woman now standing but a few feet away. It was not abnormal for Valran to approach him with messages or requests from others in his house, so this wasn’t at all strange or cause for alarm on its own. What was peculiar, however, was the fact that this young lady looked utterly horrified. ‘Of what? Of me? I’ve never even spoken to this one…’ these thoughts cross his mind with a sigh. Shifting his position to face her, “Yes…? I promise…I don’t bite. There’s no need to be so scared.” The pale, iridescent Ferrier speaks with a friendly warmth in his voice– there is no need for his staff to fear him.
The young woman knots her fingers together, biting the inside of her lip. It would appear that her anxiety had not been assuaged by his words. She hesitated for a few moments longer. “It’s…not that. I…I’m sorry,” she mumbles, not really making sense. He cants his head, concerned, but curious. Silence persists between the two for a painful amount of time. She won’t meet his gaze. “I…don’t know what you’ve come to share, but whatever it is, you can’t be blamed if it’s not your fault,” Degare speaks again, the continued silence having begun to stir his own anxieties.
With a deep breath, she finally looks him in the eyes. “I’ve news…about…” she trails off. Swallowing hard, she continues, “Averre is dead.” These words are blurted out quickly and she flinches as soon as she says them. Degare’s face is utterly blank. He blinks a few times, swallows, “...say again?” It was as if he’d failed to internalize the words she’d said. That, or he simply wasn’t willing to believe it. No...not yet. Flustered, the young woman opens her mouth again, “Late last night…he– Averre is gone.”
Gritting his teeth, his jaw tightens, fists clenching as knuckles whiten even more. He opens his mouth to tell the poor girl she can go, but his throat is so tight he can’t speak. Degare had, indeed, heard her correctly the first time, much as he desperately wanted to believe otherwise. Tension radiated through the man’s musculature like a slow wave as emotions began to stir within. Snapping glassy eyes closed, he exhales. “I…you…you’ve done your job. You are free to go.” His voice is dry, cracking as he speaks. Much as she felt bad for him, it was not her place to linger any longer. With a quick, nervous bow, the young woman scurried away.
On the brink of shattering where he stood, myriad thoughts swam through his head. According to the physicians tending to him, Averre had been improving. How could this happen…? So soon…and without warning. He’d wanted to be there, at his lover’s side, when he passed and with this news, that opportunity had been ripped away from him. The longer he stood there, the harder it became to resist the overwhelming onslaught of sadness, grief and anger. Finally, he mustered the willpower to carry himself back to his tower.
With shaky hands, he pushes open the door and slams it shut behind him, locking it. Now thoroughly alone, the wiry elf collapses onto the floor, struggling to breathe. It still didn’t feel at all real. As he lay in a crumpled heap, his chest would ache and he’d be overtaken with the violent urge to throw up. Unable to stave off his emotions any longer, tears flowed down pale cheeks amongst loud, choking sobs. It couldn’t be real. They’d just spoken the day before…and now he was gone?
It was at this point where his fear of going through with the Arlaed now truly felt absurd. He could no longer fathom exactly why it was he had hesitated for so long. He could no longer understand why he had been capable of consistently blowing it off while the man he’d held so dear withered away before his eyes. Fury directed at himself was beginning to build. This was his fault, after all. Death can’t be stopped…but it could’ve been delayed. They would have shared many more years together if he’d just gone through with it. Decades, hundreds of them, even…but not now, not anymore. It was their journey's end and Degare simply was not ready. Though the news alone had already served as catalyst for breaking him to pieces, the self-directed anger further smashed those pieces into a fine, coruscating sand.
The last words they’d shared repeated in his head, over and over, tormenting him. ‘I’ll be fine, just think it over again, would you? We’re running out of time, and should anything happen…’til the end of time please know, I love you more than you’ll ever be capable of realizing.’ Averre had said. Degare promised he would reconsider the Arlaed and said something similarly saccharine in return– ‘I still remember the brilliant blanket of stars under which we met…I’ll never be able to love anything else much the same as I feel towards you. I’ll never let this feeling go, Averre.’ After sharing one last kiss, the two parted, unknown to either of them, for the final time.
- - -
It was mid-morning and the Ferrier had only recently stepped from his tower and into the sun. Early Glade, one of his favorite times of the year…the air was cool, but the gentle rays of the sun piercing through overcast clouds made him feel warm nonetheless. For all intents and purposes, it was a beautiful day.
Degare’s gaze drifted up to the sky. Gentle, soft looking clouds floated languidly over an endless expanse of brilliant blues. He stood here for a moment, watching, as the sun was covered and uncovered to various degrees by the clouds as they passed. His expression was tired, but otherwise blank as pupils shrunk in the bright light. The elf pulls his eyes away only when he begins to feel the visual strain start to tug at him from staring too long even adjacent to the sun.
He sighs, long and extended. Worry weighs heavily upon his heart, but he has to walk through this day as if it were any another…and it was. Heavy, slow steps carry him forward.
As he walks further into his manor’s garden, a soft breeze blows through the leaves, his hair, over his skin. The cool air and rustling leaves would be relaxing if it were another time. Birds soar overhead, flitting by as they go about their business, their songs ringing out through the courtyard. The reverberations of light steps and the echoes of voices reach the mage’s ears as well– Valran, family members and so forth otherwise engaged with their various affairs. Time felt slow today.
His eyes are drawn to the vibrant colors of new blooms and young buds contrasting against scores of green hues. As he walks, he passes by quite a number of them. Bright pink petals resembling upside down hearts rest alongside sweet, dainty white bells adorning thin stems. They hang above blooms of light, cool, drooping blue bells split into thin petals that coalesce with grape-like tiny hyacinth flowers– all interspersed with white, violet and golden crocuses. The names of each one flashes in his mind as he languidly drifts by: Lamprocapnos spectabilis, Convallaria majalis, Scilla siberica, Muscari spp., and finally, Crocus.
One flower in particular commands the Ferrier’s attention above all of the others. Slow steps grind to a halt as he stands in front of a veritable field of its blooms: red spider lily, Lycoris radiata. Long had this flower been one of his favorites, despite their meaning– journey’s end– being rather somber in nature. It bloomed in these exact beds every year from spring to late summer. As for why he felt drawn to stand before them today, he could only guess. As he stood in reverie, the sounds of the world around him grew ever quieter, as if he were drowning them out. Consequently, he was oblivious to the panic-stricken footsteps of a young Valran walking towards him at a noticeably nervous pace.
She had only started working for House Socorro recently and the task given to her in this moment was one she absolutely did not understand why of all people, she was chosen for it. Her thoughts pulsed with anxiety about how the Lord would react to the news she had to share. The mere concept of even speaking the words to him dried her throat and made her feel ill, but she was unable to pass this task off to anyone else– they all felt much the same way. Ultimately, this is likely why she was saddled with delivering this information…absolutely nobody else wanted to and she was the very newest.
In the garden, she spotted him. With a deep breath, she makes her approach, shoes clicking against the flagstone path. Stopping a few feet away, it would appear that the tall elf simply did not notice her; he was lost in his thoughts in one way or another. She stood beside him in silence for some few agonizing moments before she choked up the confidence to get his attention. “L-lord Socorro…?” Her soft voice quivers when she speaks.
At first, he didn't move at all. Only amber irises under half closed lids shift towards the small woman now standing but a few feet away. It was not abnormal for Valran to approach him with messages or requests from others in his house, so this wasn’t at all strange or cause for alarm on its own. What was peculiar, however, was the fact that this young lady looked utterly horrified. ‘Of what? Of me? I’ve never even spoken to this one…’ these thoughts cross his mind with a sigh. Shifting his position to face her, “Yes…? I promise…I don’t bite. There’s no need to be so scared.” The pale, iridescent Ferrier speaks with a friendly warmth in his voice– there is no need for his staff to fear him.
The young woman knots her fingers together, biting the inside of her lip. It would appear that her anxiety had not been assuaged by his words. She hesitated for a few moments longer. “It’s…not that. I…I’m sorry,” she mumbles, not really making sense. He cants his head, concerned, but curious. Silence persists between the two for a painful amount of time. She won’t meet his gaze. “I…don’t know what you’ve come to share, but whatever it is, you can’t be blamed if it’s not your fault,” Degare speaks again, the continued silence having begun to stir his own anxieties.
With a deep breath, she finally looks him in the eyes. “I’ve news…about…” she trails off. Swallowing hard, she continues, “Averre is dead.” These words are blurted out quickly and she flinches as soon as she says them. Degare’s face is utterly blank. He blinks a few times, swallows, “...say again?” It was as if he’d failed to internalize the words she’d said. That, or he simply wasn’t willing to believe it. No...not yet. Flustered, the young woman opens her mouth again, “Late last night…he– Averre is gone.”
Gritting his teeth, his jaw tightens, fists clenching as knuckles whiten even more. He opens his mouth to tell the poor girl she can go, but his throat is so tight he can’t speak. Degare had, indeed, heard her correctly the first time, much as he desperately wanted to believe otherwise. Tension radiated through the man’s musculature like a slow wave as emotions began to stir within. Snapping glassy eyes closed, he exhales. “I…you…you’ve done your job. You are free to go.” His voice is dry, cracking as he speaks. Much as she felt bad for him, it was not her place to linger any longer. With a quick, nervous bow, the young woman scurried away.
On the brink of shattering where he stood, myriad thoughts swam through his head. According to the physicians tending to him, Averre had been improving. How could this happen…? So soon…and without warning. He’d wanted to be there, at his lover’s side, when he passed and with this news, that opportunity had been ripped away from him. The longer he stood there, the harder it became to resist the overwhelming onslaught of sadness, grief and anger. Finally, he mustered the willpower to carry himself back to his tower.
With shaky hands, he pushes open the door and slams it shut behind him, locking it. Now thoroughly alone, the wiry elf collapses onto the floor, struggling to breathe. It still didn’t feel at all real. As he lay in a crumpled heap, his chest would ache and he’d be overtaken with the violent urge to throw up. Unable to stave off his emotions any longer, tears flowed down pale cheeks amongst loud, choking sobs. It couldn’t be real. They’d just spoken the day before…and now he was gone?
It was at this point where his fear of going through with the Arlaed now truly felt absurd. He could no longer fathom exactly why it was he had hesitated for so long. He could no longer understand why he had been capable of consistently blowing it off while the man he’d held so dear withered away before his eyes. Fury directed at himself was beginning to build. This was his fault, after all. Death can’t be stopped…but it could’ve been delayed. They would have shared many more years together if he’d just gone through with it. Decades, hundreds of them, even…but not now, not anymore. It was their journey's end and Degare simply was not ready. Though the news alone had already served as catalyst for breaking him to pieces, the self-directed anger further smashed those pieces into a fine, coruscating sand.
The last words they’d shared repeated in his head, over and over, tormenting him. ‘I’ll be fine, just think it over again, would you? We’re running out of time, and should anything happen…’til the end of time please know, I love you more than you’ll ever be capable of realizing.’ Averre had said. Degare promised he would reconsider the Arlaed and said something similarly saccharine in return– ‘I still remember the brilliant blanket of stars under which we met…I’ll never be able to love anything else much the same as I feel towards you. I’ll never let this feeling go, Averre.’ After sharing one last kiss, the two parted, unknown to either of them, for the final time.
____
'Thoughts'
"Common Tongue/Speech"
"Raillen Tongue/Speech"
'Thoughts'
"Common Tongue/Speech"
"Raillen Tongue/Speech"
